JANUARY 1692
SALEM
NIGHT
Darkness descends.
A howling wind pounds the door of Reverend Samuel Parris’s parsonage. The last embers of a dying fire throw jagged shadows against the walls. In an upstairs bedroom, huddled for warmth under thick blankets, the slave Tituba is whispering stories of witches and demons to Parris’s nine-year-old daughter, Betty, and his orphaned eleven-year-old niece, Abigail Williams, who lives with them.
The young girls are enthralled.
Tituba knows the witch landscape. She was also Parris’s servant in Boston when Ann Glover was convicted of witchcraft and hanged four years ago. She heard that the Irish washerwoman bewitched four children. Tituba tells Betty and Abigail that the victims had fits and lost control of their bodies.
The girls take it all in. The tortured children are about their same age.
Tituba’s almond eyes glisten with reflected flames as she relates what else she has seen: Witches flying through the air on sticks and poles. Witches appearing in her dreams as a hog, a dog, a yellow bird, or a three-foot-tall winged creature. She warns the girls: They must not repeat a word of what she is telling them. The Devil has threatened to cut off her head if they do.
Betty and Abigail vow to keep silent. They know the Devil is watching. They have learned his tricks from Reverend Parris, who came to Salem two years earlier to reignite a fading Puritan zeal in the village. He preaches strict adherence to traditional principles, denying church membership to anyone not faithfully following his dictates. The reverend even wants locals who do not live in Salem to pay a fee to attend his church. But more than anything else, Parris warns the people of Salem to beware: “The Devil is the grand enemy of the Church.”
The minister and his wife, Elizabeth, require the children to strictly follow orders. Betty respects her father but is fascinated by the exotic Tituba. Everything about her is strange and different: her bronze skin, the singsong of her Barbados accent, the things she knows about witches. The girls cuddle closer to Tituba in the cold night, for affection as well as warmth. She has raised them. They trust her.
Tituba is a mysterious presence in Salem. Reverend Parris, who inherited a sugar mill in Barbados, bought her and another slave, John Indian, on that island. He then brought the couple back to Boston and eventually to Salem where they are now ensconced. John Indian also lives in the Parris parsonage and is considered to be Tituba’s husband, although there is no formal marriage arrangement. The pair understand their status, which is to do what they are told.
Slavery is legal in New England; the first Africans arrived in Boston from the West Indies in 1638. They were traded for tobacco, cotton, and captured Native Americans. Tituba and John Indian are part of an estimated two hundred African slaves in the region.*
All slaves must hide their intelligence and anger behind a submissive attitude, or be subject to punishment. But reality is far different. For someone supposedly having no power, Tituba controls the young children. She can lead them where she wants them to go. She can shape them.
Reverend Parris is too busy to realize how much influence his slave has over Betty and Abigail. Indeed, Tituba often sleeps with the children, cooks, cleans, does the laundry, and supervises everything they do.
Meanwhile, John Indian works in the fields, fully aware that Reverend Parris doesn’t care about the feelings of his slaves. They are given food and shelter and permitted to attend his church—although they are not allowed to be members. His responsibility is to provide for their physical and moral well-being. What Parris will never give John or Tituba is freedom.
Slaves, of course, carry with them memories, and sometimes a knowledge of the dark arts. On Barbados, an English-controlled island colony, “vodun” is common. It is a religion based on a variety of spirits that circulate around a single god. In some places it is called voodoo and its goal is to bring all lives into harmony.
Voodoo could not be more opposite from the Puritan ethic.
Tituba is a clever woman. She understands she can manipulate the children any time she wants. She also knows what John Indian has told her: Above all, slaves must survive. They do whatever they have to in order to make that happen.
In October 1691, a woman in nearby Middlesex is convicted of witchcraft and imprisoned. Two months later, eleven-year-old Mary Knowlton awakens screaming that something is pricking her with pins—and an elderly woman is soon arrested for bewitching her. Reverend Parris makes sure everybody knows about these nearby cases—including his children.
In early February 1692, the Devil comes to Salem.
Betty Parris is sitting quietly by the night fire. Without any warning, as if struck by an invisible force, the nine-year-old goes into convulsions. She starts flailing, her arms flying into the air, her body twisting into bizarre positions. She is hurled onto the floor, screaming in fear, then barking like a dog. There is a pause, and she straightens, a pleading look in her eyes—then it starts again. She shrieks in pain, she whines, then crawls under furniture.
“I’ve got the fever,” young Betty cries.
As quickly as the fit began, it ends. The girl collapses onto the floor, helpless. Tituba rushes to her aid and informs her master, Reverend Parris. Over the next few days, it happens again and again. Then cousin Abigail is afflicted by the same mysterious force. Her fits are more dramatic than Betty’s. During one of them, she runs wildly around the house, almost falling into the fireplace. Abigail grabs pieces of burning wood and throws them. Reverend Deodat Lawson, who is visiting the Parris home when this happens, writes, “Stretching up her arms as high as she could, and crying ‘Whish, whish’ several times.”
Word about Betty and Abigail spreads quickly throughout Salem. People are talking, although in hushed, scared whispers.
It could happen to their children.
It could happen to them.
The girls are getting more attention than ever before. Their fits arrive more often. They are being pricked with pins, they complain; they are being pinched. When asked who is doing this to them, they don’t answer—instead they begin choking.
Reverend Parris prays for them. Have mercy on my children, he beseeches the Lord.
He consults the village doctor, who tells him there is no medical cure for the behavior. Parris knows his most fervent prayers are not being answered. So he goes to an expert.
Reverend John Hale, the respected minister from nearby Beverly, is asked for his opinion. Hale has spent decades investigating cases of witchcraft. “It is preternatural,” he explains. “The hand of Satan is in them.” There is only one thing to do: “Sit still and wait upon the Providence of God.”
There is a folk remedy, although it is very dangerous. A neighbor, Mary Sibley, tells Tituba and John Indian they have to bake a witch cake so they can discover exactly who is bewitching the children. Tituba follows instructions; the witch cake consists of rye bread mixed with the girls’ urine then baked in white ashes. She feeds it to the family dog—hoping the dog will somehow indicate who the witches are. It doesn’t work—the dog shows no sign of altering its behavior. But word gets out that Tituba knows all about the world of witchcraft. That spells danger for the slave. Suspicions rise. It is now obvious to some who is bewitching Betty and Abigail:
Tituba.
It doesn’t take long for the children to identify their tormentor. Betty and Abigail tell Reverend Parris it is, indeed, Tituba’s “specter” who is pinching and pricking them with pins. Her spirit follows them around the house, they claim, and she knows what they are doing even when she isn’t in the room.
The day after Tituba is named, two other girls in the village, Ann Putnam and Elizabeth Hubbard, are afflicted—and both of them know exactly who is tormenting them. This time it is a nasty, sometimes homeless elderly woman named Sarah Good. Ann and Elizabeth continue their accusation, also naming Sarah Osborne as a witch. The sickly woman is scorned by the village for marrying her much younger indentured servant. The new charges are not hard for town officials to believe.
On March 1, 1692, constables arrest Sarah Good, Sarah Osborne, and Tituba and bring them in for questioning.
The hearing is simply to discover if there is sufficient evidence to charge the three accused women with witchcraft. The proceedings are to take place at Ingersoll’s Tavern, the most popular gathering spot in Salem village. But Ingersoll’s is too small to hold the large crowd of people who want to attend—so the hearing is moved next door to the dark, decrepit Sunday meetinghouse.
Magistrates John Hathorne and Jonathan Corwin conduct the proceedings. The four bewitched young girls are present to identify their tormentors. Before the hearing begins, the three accused witches are searched for telltale witches’ birthmarks. None are found.*
Good and Osborne are questioned first. Both of them deny they are witches, although they do accuse each other of practicing witchcraft. When Sarah Good says she has done nothing wrong, the afflicted girls immediately become “dreadfully tortured and tormented for a short space of time.” They fall to the floor and writhe side-by-side, screaming gibberish in shrill voices.†
Spectators are stunned. Yet this is exactly what they have come to see. Most have heard about these fits, but nothing adequately describes seeing it in person. Few people believe the girls are faking it.
Sarah Good’s husband testifies. No, he doesn’t think his wife is a witch. Yet he doesn’t much like her, and has no problem saying so. “She is an enemy to all good,” he says.
Tituba is next.
The slave stands to face her accusers. She remembers her “husband”—the law does not recognize slave marriages—John Indian’s oft-repeated advice: the first duty of a slave is to survive. She knows she has to be clever if she wants to live. At this point there is little question about Tituba’s guilt. But in the world of witchcraft trials, escaping the hangman’s noose is assured if the accused confesses.
“Why do you hurt these children?” Hathorne begins.
“I do not hurt them.”
Then who does hurt them?
“The Devil, for ought I know.”
And then Tituba stuns the packed meetinghouse She tells them what they want to hear: she is indeed a witch.
“The Devil,” Tituba boldly states, “came to me and bid me serve him.”
A gasp fills the room. There is no longer any doubt about what is happening in Salem. The Devil is here. People glance around nervously. They look at their neighbors in a new way, trying to recall strange things people have done. And they remember who came to them in their dreams.
Tituba doesn’t hold back. She makes herself valuable. The authorities want to believe Sarah Good and Sarah Osborne are witches. She confirms it. She tells them she has seen four women hurting the children: “Goody Osburn [sic] and Sarah Good and I do not know who the other two were.” She explains that it was Osborne and Good who gave her orders to inflict harm: “Hurt the children or they do worse to me.” *
Tituba continues to tell vivid stories. She describes flying through the air on a stick. She says a yellow bird offered “pretty things” if she served the Devil. No, she has not told any of this to her “master” because she is afraid he would cut off her head if she was a witch.
There isn’t a sound in the room as she gives her testimony. Even the four afflicted girls sit quietly. No one has ever seen anything like this. Very few witches ever plead guilty.
At the end of her testimony, Tituba suddenly covers her eyes with her hands and complains, “I am blind now. I cannot see.”
No one is surprised. The Devil is angry she is revealing his secrets.
The hearing is adjourned. Tituba’s testimony has created a sensation.
One day later, Tituba is brought back for more interrogation. Word has spread that a witch is confessing. She has met the Devil. Far more ominous, she knows there are other witches in the village.
The crowd is even larger than before. People fill every seat and squeeze into vacant spaces. Body heat warms the freezing- cold meetinghouse. There has never been such revealing testimony.
Tituba actually feels empowered. It is an incredible feeling for a slave. Two days ago, she was a piece of property. Suddenly, she has the power of life and death over the people who have looked down on her for years. Strong men fear her. When Tituba looks at them, they turn away.
She continues to embellish. The Devil offered her a deal, telling the slave she must “serve him for six years and he would give me many fine things.”
He wanted her to “do hurt to Betty,” but she resisted. “I would not hurt Betty. I love Betty.”
The questioning continues: Did she see the Devil’s book? Oh yes, the Devil showed it to her. She signed it in her own blood and saw other signatures. There are nine witches, Tituba says—more than anyone suspected.
The only names she remembers seeing were Good and Osborne. She can’t identify anyone else. All she knows is that some of them live in Boston, others are right here in Salem.
Tituba’s testimony is not always consistent. Sometimes her descriptions change. In later hearings nine witches will become dozens.*
By the time Tituba finishes testifying, Salem has declared war on witches. She has spread a wide net, telling the village that it isn’t just females who are in league with the Devil—she has also seen well-dressed men seeking the evil one’s company. She doesn’t know who these men are. They could be anybody.
It is chilling. Salem has no choice: the town has to investigate every accusation, make arrests, conduct trials, and, if necessary, execute the witches. But what to do with Tituba? Once a witch confesses, the Devil usually leaves her. That’s why confessed witches are not punished. “The truth” frees them.
Tituba has saved herself. If she had denied what everybody believes is true, she probably would be executed. Instead, she is imprisoned.
From the relative safety of her cell, Tituba watches as the terror she has unleashed takes control of Salem. Reverend Parris embraces her confession. This is exactly what he has been warning for years. The fact that it started in his own household, with his own children, is extremely strong evidence that the Devil is trying to stop him. For more than a year there have been people in the village who have tried to get the pastor removed. They refused to pay his salary—they wouldn’t even provide wood for his winter fires. Now he knows why. The motive for fighting him becomes clear when Mary Warren becomes the next person afflicted.
The twenty-year-old Mary is a plain young woman with diminished prospects. Life has been hard. Both her parents died and left her nothing. She is a servant, working for John and Elizabeth Proctor. She watches the first hearings from the meetinghouse gallery, sitting with the other servants.
A pattern repeats itself. Mary Warren is another of Salem’s marginal people. No one cares what happens to her. Her employer, John Proctor, is a wealthy fifty-nine-year-old farmer and tavern owner. He has been married three times and fathered eighteen children. He works the land while his wife, Elizabeth, runs a tavern. John is a big man with a temper. He is the leader of the group trying to rid the village of Reverend Parris. But now, his servant seems to be possessed by the Devil. And Parris is poised to use that against John Proctor.
The tavern owner doesn’t believe any of the witch accusations. It’s all nonsense. He has no patience for little girls whining about being terrorized by invisible people. There are others in the village who feel the same way, but most of them are afraid to speak up. Nobody wants to attract attention to themselves.
Mary Warren is sitting at her sewing wheel when the affliction strikes her. She says she is picked up and twisted. Her whole body contorts. She writhes in pain and screams for help.
John Proctor will have none of it. He tells Mary if she doesn’t cease this spectacle he will “thrash her.” Her fits stop. She admits to Proctor that she faked her symptoms—and accuses the afflicted girls of doing the same thing.
The response from the girls is almost immediate: Mary Warren is a witch! She is doing the work of the Devil by casting doubt. She is detained and questioned. Once again, people crowd into the meetinghouse. They want to know the truth.
Mary’s accusers sit only a few feet away from her. The hearing starts calmly. She is asked, “You were a little while ago an afflicted person. Now you are an afflicter: How comes this to pass?”
“I look up to God,” she replies, her eyes downcast in respect. “And take it to be a great mercy of God.”
In an instant the girls “are grievously afflicted.” Others also suffer fits—including Tituba’s “husband,” John Indian. He falls into a seizure. He rolls on the floor, pleading for help.*
Mary Warren seizes the opportunity. Just as she is about to confess, she is “attacked” by the specters of John and Elizabeth Proctor, her employers. The court records that her senses are taken away from her. She can’t see, hear, or speak. The fit lasts for several minutes. It is the most astonishing hearing yet.
There is no use further questioning Mary. Every time she tries to respond she is incomprehensible. The hearing ends with no charges against her.
Yet.
The scene has been set. It is Reverend Parris against John and Elizabeth Proctor. And someone will die.
Witch hysteria is now full-blown. All of New England is beginning to hear about it. It replaces the Indian raids as a primary source of apprehension.
Tituba is kept in prison for thirteen months. According to Puritan law, a prisoner has to pay the costs of the jailing. But the slave has no money. Finally, someone pays for her release, and she disappears along with her “husband,” John Indian. They have successfully employed the slave code: they have survived.
Others will not be as fortunate.†